


We Dance To A Different Disco

by ozhawk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/pseuds/ozhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Nat's relationship, from Clint's perspective: songfic to We Dance To A Different Disco by Short Stack</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Dance To A Different Disco

**We Dance To A Different Disco, Honey**

Clint/Natasha songfic to We Dance To A Different Disco, Honey by Short Stack.

Characters owned by Marvel, music by Short Stack, I own nothing.

 

_(This ain't no god damn disco, this ain't no god damn disco) (This ain't no god damn disco, this ain't no god damn disco)_  
  


He watched her from his high perch, watched her on the dance floor, circling in the arms of some idiot dignitary who couldn’t look any further than her killer curves.

_We dance alone tonight because, We dance to a different disco, honey._

How could a man like that ever understand her? Ever know more of her than the brief heat of her flesh, before she left him cold and dead in her wake?

_Honey, forgive for I have sinned, And I don't believe in you so, We'll murder this dance floor, Because we're all done for, We dance to a different disco,_  
  


Even he, even the one who understood her best, who had been her silent, distant guardian in more missions than he cared to remember – even he did not truly _know_ her. She looked up, a flash of green eyes, seeing him there, pinning him with her gaze before she glanced away again, a sultry smile for her escort curving her full, soft lips.

_And I lie awake at night, Just hoping to make you shiver, I'll be your disaster, Forever and after, So cry me a fucking river._  
  


After the extraction, after the debrief, she lay down in the cramped hotel bed beside him and reached for him, her pale skin soft against his rough, callused hands, and just as it had been a hundred thousand times before, he could deny her nothing.

_And I'll be just fine, I bet you say that to all the boys_

The times she wept in his arms were the ones he liked best. Not because he thought he had hurt her – he could never hurt her – but because he had _reached_ her. Had broken through that iron curtain around her heart, however temporarily, and touched something inside her that only he was ever privileged to see. 

_We dance alone tonight because, We dance to a different disco, honey, And we will n-n-n-n-never fall in love, We dance to a different disco, honey_

She danced to stay limber. Once a ballerina, always a ballerina. Sometimes she danced around him, a fey, delicate sprite no man would ever catch, as he lay on the weight bench, hefting the barbells above him, building the muscle he needed to protect her. Only her. Only ever her.

_Honey, I'll shoot down the moon for you, I love ever word you've spoken, I know that you miss me, So shut up and kiss me, Living La Vida Loca._  
  


He never missed. Rookie agents talked about him in awed whispers, watching him on the range, making shots again and again that they would be lucky to fluke once in a lifetime.

_And I'll be just fine, I bet you say that to all the boys,_

He never missed because to miss would be to risk losing her. Losing her would be the end of him. It was that simple.

_Is this what you've been waiting for!_  
  


The first time she whispered “I love you” in the dark, he closed his eyes and waited for the knife between his ribs. So she’d reached the end of herself, then. He wouldn’t fight her. If she was leaving, then there was nothing left for him here either. And he would not shame himself by begging her to take him with her.

_We dance alone tonight because, We dance to a different disco, honey, And we will n-n-n-n-never fall in love, We dance to a different disco, honey,_

When the knife didn’t come, his eyes opened with shock. She was sleeping. Lying beside him, _sleeping_ , a soft whistling sound coming from her nose that had been repeatedly broken and surgically repaired to look perfect, but the bone structure was damaged enough that she would always whistle in her sleep.

_Our lips collided with such force, We dance to a different disco, honey, And we will n-n-n-n-never fall in love, We dance to a different disco, honey,_

“You always said love is for children, Tasha!” he said it loudly enough to wake her up. She rolled her eyes at him, he could see it in the dimness of the room.

“And you always call me a brat when I don’t get my own way, so I must be a child, must I not?” she said, with that Russian logic that confounded him completely, and then she kissed him again.

Who cared if the world made sense?

_We dance to a different disco, We dance to a different disco, honey! Boom._

She ran ahead of him as the explosions followed hard on their heels, and she was _laughing_. He shook his head and ran faster, scooping her off her feet and throwing her up to catch hold of the middle rungs of the dangling chain ladder, catching the bottom rung himself and watching as the helicopter lifted them away from the flames and scattering debris.

_How we never said we'd slip, slip, slip, woah! When we're working for the kiss, kiss, kiss, woah! And I never said I'd miss, miss, miss, woah! And we'll be dancing to a different disco, honey._

She climbed down over his body, locking her legs around his waist, trusting both their lives to his grip on the ladder. Knowing that he’d never let her fall. And they kissed, tongues dancing in their own crazy mating ritual.

_We dance alone tonight because, We dance to a different disco, honey, And we will n-n-n-n-never fall in love, We dance to a different disco, honey_  
  


“Those two are _mad_ ,” the trainee handler said to Agent Coulson, the pair of them leaning out of the open helicopter door, watching Hawkeye and the Black Widow kiss fiercely as the ladder turned perilously above the flames. The two agents were supported only by Hawkeye’s (admittedly impressive) upper body strength, and neither of them seemed remotely concerned about anything beyond their kiss.

Coulson sighed and mentally wrote off yet another replacement handler. “They’re just dancing to a different disco to the rest of us, son.”


End file.
